


Opened Up the Doors

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Spanking, young!Hotch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rossi takes exception to Hotch's sleeping habits and this leads them to come to a better understanding of their friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opened Up the Doors

**Author's Note:**

> When I was younger, so much younger than today  
> I never needed anybody's help in any way  
> But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured  
> Now I find, I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors
> 
> -The Beatles, from the song “Help”

* * *

Rossi wasn’t sure when precisely he had started taking an interest in Aaron Hotchner’s sleeping habits. Probably, he decided, somewhere around the same time he became concerned his colleague wasn’t eating enough, or when he first had to stop himself from asking if Hotch was sure his coat was warm enough. Basically, when the kid started being _his_ kid.

So when he entered the BAU early one morning to see Hotch there, looking as if he had been there for a while, and drawing the conclusion that the man had pulled an all-nighter, he immediately felt a familiar mixture of concern and irritation. Mostly because Hotch had spent all night working just three days ago as well. Rossi didn’t really _like_ it, but he couldn’t fault Hotch for working through the night now and then. Partly because he did it himself. But two nights in one week, Rossi felt he was definitely allowed to be a bit upset about.

“Hey,” he greeted the younger man who looked up at him as soon as he entered the room, “You been here all night?”

“Hey,” Hotch replied, “There was some case files that needed going over.”

Frowning slightly, Rossi put a hand on Hotch’s shoulder and peered down at the papers in front of him. “These aren’t active cases. They couldn’t have waited while you got some sleep?”

Hotch shrugged – effectively dislodging Rossi’s hand from his shoulder – and closed the file. “Well, Haley’s out of town, so I figured I might as well get some work done.”

“Aaron, working all night is a bit more than ‘getting some work done’,” Rossi retorted, “It’s not healthy.”

Turning to look at him, Hotch raised his eyebrows. “Dave, I’m not five years old. I can manage my own sleeping schedule.”

He sounded mildly exasperated, as if Rossi was being completely unreasonable in showing concern for his welfare. Rossi was inclined to give him a certain amount of leeway in that department – Hotch still seemed to find it a bit difficult to believe that someone would care about him – but this obvious flippancy still earned the young man a stern glare. Partly because he was still unsure about how he felt about being the recipient of the same look he was more used to giving others.

“Not sleeping isn’t managing,” he said, “I don’t like it. No more all-nighters, okay?” Hotch looked about to protest, but Rossi forestalled him. “I’m serious. Consider it an order.”

Deciding not to give him any time to argue, Rossi left with that. He gave a Hotch a final pat of the shoulder and headed for his office, from behind his back hearing disgruntled mumbles that sounded a lot like ‘not on the job’ and ‘not a kid’.

* * *

For about a week Hotch followed Rossi’s instructions; Haley was in town and even though very far from slacking off, Hotch did take it a bit easier when his girlfriend was around to occupy his time. Rossi was grateful for that, even though he would have preferred it if Hotch didn’t need an incentive not to overwork himself. Maybe that was what Rossi should do, though; find something to pull Hotch away from work.

He was pondering ways to do that when he walked into the BAU and for the third time that month found Hotch obviously _still_ there from the night before. His mouth tightening in displeasure, Rossi gave the younger man a stern glare as soon as he looked from his work to see who had come in. When he saw it was Rossi – and noticed the expression on his face – Hotch hid a grimace.

“I thought we’d talked about all-nighters,” Rossi began without preamble. Hotch gave him a bland look.

“ _You_ talked,” he said, “And as I recall, I told you that I didn’t think it’s any of your concern.”

“And as _I_ recall,” Rossi retorted, stepping closer, “I disagreed.”

“And then we left it at that. Agreeing to disagree.”

Raising his eyebrows, Rossi walked the final distance to Hotch’s desk and leant against it with crossed arms. “No,” he said, “You see, kid, when we disagree, the default is that I’m right until you convince me otherwise.”

Frowning deeply, Hotch opened his mouth, probably to argue, but no sound came out. Most likely because he didn’t really know what to say. Rossi knew that it was often surprisingly difficult to find a good answer to things phrased as indisputable statements – it was a technique that he had been the victim of an annoyingly large amount of times, from an annoyingly large amount of people.

“I’m not saying you have to agree with me on everything,” Rossi continued, “but this is your health we’re talking about. Haven’t we established that I have some say in that area?”

“Well…” Hotch began, “Yes. But skipping a night’s sleep isn’t going to kill me.”

“The standards for your health are a bit more than not getting killed. We’ve been through that.”

Hotch closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “What do you want me to say, Dave? I’ll be a good boy and go to bed on time?”

The last words were dripping with sarcasm and with a stern frown Rossi straightened and turned Hotch’s swivel chair so they faced each other. “You really think you’re in any position to mouth off?” he demanded, “You disobeyed me, Aaron.”

Just as Hotch was opening his mouth to reply, from the look on his face to disagree, Gideon entered. Deciding that this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of others, Rossi interrupted Hotch with a quick headshake. “We’ll talk about this later. After work.”

* * *

On Rossi’s suggestion – _order_ – Hotch had ridden with him to his place. The car ride was quiet and tense when they reached Rossi’s house fifteen minutes later, Hotch was glad it was over. They entered the house together and as Rossi immediately headed for the living room, Hotch followed and took a seat on the sofa Rossi pointed to.

“So,” the older man began sternly, “Would you like to tell me why you disobeyed?”

Sighing, Hotch shrugged lightly. “I don’t think my sleeping habits are any of your concern.”

“No?” Rossi raised his eyebrows demandingly, “But you knew that I think that they _are_?”

Hotch shifted uncomfortably; they had immediately reached the subject Hotch would prefer to avoid, and he didn’t know how to steer the conversation in another direction. “I… I guess. But I don’t think they should be. I know you… care about my health. But skipping a night’s sleep now and again isn’t dangerous.”

“Not by itself, but you sleep too little as it is,” Rossi retorted, taking a seat opposite Hotch – which he appreciated, because he _really_ didn’t like sitting while the older man stood looking down at him – and leaning forward, elbows on his legs, “You know the effects of sleep deprivation.”

“I’m _not_ sleep-depraved,” Hotch protested, “I just don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“You need more than you’re getting right now. How many hours a night do you sleep?”

“Look, Dave, I know my own body’s needs. I’m not a child.”

“ _How many hours,_ Aaron?” Rossi repeated demandingly.

Realizing that it wouldn’t be in his best interest to ignore two direct questions in a row, Hotch gave in. “About six.”

“Six?” Rossi echoed, sounding doubtful. Hotch hid a grimace. It was actually mostly true that he got six hours of sleep a night, but only mostly; it tended to get closer to five now and then. And in case Rossi had caught his half-lie and wasn’t just asking for confirmation, Hotch didn’t want to take any chances.

“Usually. Five, sometimes. But I don’t need more!”

Rossi sighed. “That might be true. Six hours isn’t unheard of, I guess. But you’re still skirting the edges, kid.”

“Perhaps,” Hotch conceded, “But not _crossing_ the edges. I’ve done with this same amount of sleep for years, Dave.”

The older man gave him a mildly skeptical look. “You really think telling me you’ve been ignoring your health for years is going to make me feel more sympathetic about you doing it now?”

That wasn’t the point Hotch had been trying to make, but he supposed he should have been able to foresee that it would be how Rossi would take the words. During the time he had known him, Hotch had realized that talking himself out of trouble rarely worked with Rossi; he seemed to always see through any attempts at obfuscation or distraction and even when Hotch was making a perfectly reasonable argument he managed to turn it on its head and make himself seem in the right.

It annoyed Hotch, mostly because he was used to being the one who did that to others. He just hoped that in a few years when he had more experience that would change. The only problem being, of course, that Rossi would always have _more_ experience.

“I know the symptoms of sleep deprivation,” Hotch said calmly, “and I don’t have them.”

Rossi tilted his head and gave Hotch a mild look. “No? Increased stress hormone levels? Muscle tension? Frequent headaches?”

“No!” Hotch protested emphatically, shaking his head.

“Aaron, I’m a profiler, remember?” Rossi replied, “Any sleep loss is immediately noticeable on you, and it wouldn’t be if you got enough sleep ordinarily. I want you to start sleeping at least a little more and I want you to stop with the all-nighters. Those are orders.”

Sitting up a bit straighter, Hotch trained a glare on the older man. “You can’t give me orders like that!” he said sharply. Because Rossi _couldn’t:_ they weren’t on the job and it wasn’t as if this was about Hotch doing dangerous things, which he had accepted that Rossi sort of had the right to make rules about. There was no reason Hotch should be bound by the man’s wishes in other areas of his life.

“Oh? Why not?” Rossi asked, sounding genuinely curious. Hotch was pretty sure he wasn’t, though.

“Because… because I’m not a child! You don’t have the right!”

“I don’t have the right?” Rossi’s tone was a strange mix of disbelief and amusement, and possibly some underlying irritation. It wasn’t a tone Hotch wanted to hear, anyway. “Tell me then, Aaron Hotchner, what would give me the right?”

Deciding to ignore the use of his full name for the moment, Hotch frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You say I don’t have the right to care about your health. What would give me that right?”

“That’s not what I said!” Hotch snapped. “You can care –”

“I just can’t act on it?”

Pressing his lips together tightly, Hotch glared at Rossi silently. Because there wasn’t really any good way to respond to that. Of course Rossi could act on his caring; most of the time. Hotch couldn’t really forbid him from dragging him away to lunch, asking about his health or even scold him when he did something dangerous. But that was different.

“You’re going to sulk instead of answering? You’re not making a very good case for how mature you are, you know.”

“I’m not sulking. I’m just not participating in the argument.”

Rossi cocked his head questioningly, raising his eyebrows with a rather amused look on his face. “Really? Can I ask why not, or are you gonna refuse to answer that too?”

 “Because this is ridiculous!” Hotch burst out, deciding he was done being patient and cooperative. Rossi was just refusing to see Hotch’s point, or even to take his arguments seriously. The older man seemed to have simply made up his mind that he somehow had the right to micro-manage every aspect of Hotch’s life and refused to see why that was an unreasonable standpoint to take. “You can’t expect to control every single thing in my life!”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” Rossi snapped back, for the first time sounding seriously annoyed, “I’m trying to keep you alive past forty, damn it!”

“And you really think sleep is the most important part in that? We get shot at once a month, at least, and you’re griping about a few hours missed sleep!?”

“First of all, I don’t gripe!” Rossi replied, pointing a warning finger at Hotch, “And second, the fact that we get shot at is part of why I’m concerned! If you miss a night’s sleep and get too tired, you don’t fall asleep at your desk, you _die_!”

“Why don’t you just fire me then?! If you’re so concerned about me _doing my job_?”

Rossi didn’t respond immediately. Instead he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, visibly trying to calm himself down. “Aaron, I won’t lie to you. Sometimes I wish you _weren’t_ doing this job. You’re a great agent, but it’s still a damn dangerous job. And I can’t forbid you from being an agent, but I can make sure you’re as safe as possible, all right? Can’t you understand that?”

“Well, yes…” Hotch replied, his anger faltering at the calm sincerity in Rossi’s voice – and at the reasonableness of his words, to be honest. “But… sleeping more won’t make me safe, Dave.”

“No, but it’ll make you _safer_. And healthier. Not to mention it’ll make you happier.”

“Sleeping doesn’t make me happy,” Hotch said doubtingly, somewhat unsure about whether Rossi had somehow misunderstood what they were talking about.

“Less headaches, less tension, less stress?” Rossi shot back, “That won’t make you happier?”

“I don’t have headaches,” Hotch began, but at Rossi’s very skeptical look quickly amended the statement, “I don’t have _a lot_ of headaches. And I’m not tense or stressed.”

“Have you forgotten where you work? I’m a profiler, kid, and you’re not _that_ good at hiding.”

Annoyingly enough, color crept up Hotch’s cheeks at that. Because he didn’t like the reminder of how very little he could hide from his mentor. Hotch was good at keeping his emotions to himself and at making people believe what he wanted them to, _normally_. With Rossi, he could never keep anything to himself if the other man really wanted to find out. So Hotch gave up on being reasonable, and tried something else.

“So you, what, want me to take daily naps and give me a bedtime?” he drawled, giving Rossi a look that he hoped expressed how ridiculous he found the idea. The older man frowned at him.

“No. I want you to stop ignoring your body’s needs! Why are you so resistant to that idea?” The question sounded entirely genuine, an almost sad tone of confusion in Rossi’s voice. “I really want to know, Aaron.”

Hotch closed his eyes. He hated this part of talking with Rossi. The part where Rossi showed nothing of the arrogance and confidence he usually displayed and instead let his sincere worry and affection shine through. Because while he could _always_ get Hotch to talk, Rossi like this seemed to peel away all of Hotch’s defenses and leave him completely open to questions.

“I… I want to do my job. I _need_ to do it.”

“I get that, kid,” Rossi replied, “Believe me. But doing your job doesn’t include working yourselves into an early grave.”

Still with closed eyes, Hotch shrugged. He didn’t know how to explain this to Rossi. The reason he had joined the FBI was to catch criminals and help people. That was what drove him to do what he did. And whenever Hotch didn’t work, chances for it were lost. He had no illusions about being able to save the world, but what he did _could_ make a difference.

“Aaron?” Rossi prompted, “Talk to me. Why do you deny your own needs?”

Rossi’s voice was impossibly gentle and his eyes, intently focused on Hotch, held more soft affection that Hotch was comfortable with. “Dave…” he pleaded, “Can’t we just drop this?”

“Why should we?”

Hotch sighed. “Because you don’t understand.”

“Then _explain it to me_!”

That was something Hotch was honestly quite reluctant to do. Partly because he was doubtful that Rossi would understand, and partly because he suspected that even if Rossi did understand, he wouldn’t like it. Because his mentor obviously did consider sleep one of the things that filed under taking care of his health, and consequently also under things he felt he was allowed to discipline Hotch for.

“What we do… is important,” Hotch began slowly, “It helps people. It does good. And when I slack off instead of working… I’m not doing any good.”

Rossi’s expression softened into something that looked a lot like sadness and with a wry smile he got up and knelt down in front of Hotch, placing a hand on his cheek. “Aaron… what we do _is_ important. But so are you.”

The hand on his cheek didn’t allow Hotch to look away from Rossi’s intent gaze, so instead he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the warm hand gently cupping his cheek. He hated being the object of looks like that. Looks filled with kindness and affection and promises of understanding and acceptance. He didn’t know why; by all logic it should please him. But it didn’t. It was just… too close. Too intimate.

“You’re just as important as everyone else,” Rossi continued, “Even when you’re not out saving the world. Can’t you believe that?”

Hotch pulled away from Rossi and raised a hand to rub his forehead. “Dave… you don’t understand.”

“You keep telling me that.” Rossi mercilessly tugged Hotch’s hand down and once again forced Hotch to look at him. “But I’m pretty sure it’s the other way round. You _are_ important, Aaron. Not because of your job or what you can do, but because you’re you.”

Rossi didn’t let Hotch pull his wrist away, so with that mode of defense made impossible, Hotch went for another. “I didn’t know you believed in the intrinsic value of the soul, Dave,” he drawled, “Aren’t you a bit lapsed for that?”

“Sarcasm, kid? Really?” Rossi retorted, raising an eyebrow and looking almost indulgent, as if he knew what HotH Hotch was trying to do and was amused by the attempt. Which was probably true. “And yes, I believe in the value of humans. Doesn’t matter if you call it a soul or not. You _matter_ , Aaron. I’ll keep saying that until you believe it.”

Still with his head lowered, Hotch glanced up at Rossi with a crooked smile. “Why?” he asked with something that was supposed to be a chuckle but sounded more like a half-sob.

“Because it’s true. And I want you to know that.”

Hotch shook his head, not sure what he was responding to, except that he wanted to deny _something_.

“You’re not sure I’m right about this, are you?” Rossi asked after a moment’s silence, putting a hand under Hotch’s chin to angle his head up and look him in the eye, “I guess we’ll have to work on that. You’ll see sense sooner or later.”

The last was said in a close to joking tone and Hotch was very grateful for the chance to hide behind a smile and leave behind the uncomfortable intimacy. Rossi seemed willing to go along with him; he stood and ran a hand over Hotch’s hair before once again taking a seat opposite him. What he said next, Hotch wasn’t as grateful for.

“We still need to talk about you disobeying me.”

With a grimace, Hotch gave a small shrug. “I know. And… I’m sorry, I guess.”

“But you’re not sure?”

Hotch sighed. “I’m sorry I disobeyed,” he said before he paused for a moment, hesitant. Then he decided he might as well give Rossi the same sincerity the older man had given him, and looked up to meet Rossi’s eyes. “But I’m still not sure I think you have the… the authority to give me orders like that.”

Rossi tilted his head, fixing his gaze on Hotch with a small frown. Contrary to what Hotch had expected, though, he looked thoughtful rather than angry. “But you’re not sure that I don’t?” he finally said, after a long silence. Hotch made a small resigned hand gesture.

“I… I don’t know, Dave,” he admitted quietly.

And he didn’t.

He was unsure about this whole thing; letting Rossi make rules about his life and discipline him. He didn’t know how he felt about it, and he didn’t know what he thought about it either. One thing he was sure of, at least, was that he didn’t actively resent it. Rossi had told him the spankings wouldn’t make him feel like his father had, wouldn’t make him feel the hurt and shame that had been constant companions in his childhood. And somehow, they didn’t.

Rossi had properly spanked him twice, and Hotch had more than disliked it both times. It _had_ hurt, even if Hotch knew that he should be able to take much greater pain. _Was_ able to. Even more, it had been… embarrassing. He didn’t want to say humiliating, because even though Hotch still blushed at the memories, it didn’t make him feel worthless or unwanted or like he had been demeaned in Rossi’s eyes.

If anything, it made him feel wanted – that Rossi cared enough about inconsequential things like Hotch getting sufficient sleep to take such drastic measures. And _maybe_ , it pleased him a little that Rossi chose to discipline him the same way as his boss – who Rossi obviously loved – had disciplined him.

And more importantly, really; Rossi was _talking_ to him, explaining his reasons and listening to Hotch’s thoughts.

“That’s okay,” Rossi replied gently, “Not knowing is fine. But do you at least trust that I want what’s best for you? That I want you to be healthy and happy?”

Hotch drew a deep breath, intently staring down at his hands. Then he gave a small nod. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, “Yes. I believe that. But… it’s hard, Dave.”

The confession was barely a whisper, Hotch’s voice breaking as he admitted how very far from the certainty he wanted to always possess he was. Rossi seemed to understand exactly how he felt, if the sympathetic look on his face was something to go by.

“Aaron,” he said softly, “I know it’s hard. But you don’t take care of yourself on your own, so let me do it, at least it until you genuinely believe you deserve as much consideration as everyone else.”

Hotch closed his eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I care about you.”

“But _why_?”

This time the sadness in Rossi’s eyes was unmistakable as he shook his head slowly. “Oh, Aaron…” he said, “I don’t need a reason, kiddo. I care because you’re you.”

“That’s…” Hotch began, frowning deeply, “That’s not how it works, Dave. You can’t just…”

“Aaron.” Rossi interrupted him firmly, rising and walking over to Hotch, taking a seat next to him. Then he took his chin in a firm grip and turned Hotch to look him straight in the eyes. “That _is_ how it works. And I’m gonna care whether you believe that or not.”

Hotch swallowed, his mouth suddenly gone very dry and his eyes filling with tears. It made him feel ridiculous, but he found this kind of declarations uncomfortable.

Rossi moved his hand from his chin, instead putting it on the back of his neck and squeezed it softly once before letting Hotch go. “But we _still_ need to talk about your disobedience, kid.”

“Yeah…” Hotch said slowly, then quickly made his decision and hurriedly continued before he could change his mind, “I’m sorry. And I won’t do it again. If you want me to sleep more I will. And…” he swallowed and took a deep breath, his momentum faltering as he realized that he couldn’t really say what he had planned. He couldn’t tell Rossi that he was completely fine with letting the man spank him. So instead his last sentence was a question posed in a very small, hesitant voice. “Are you going to… do _that_ to me?”

“Spank you?” Rossi asked, looking rather amused, “Nah. I’m gonna ground you.”

“What?!”

“I’m grounding you,” Rossi repeated, very matter of fact, “Two weeks.”

“Dave, you can’t…” Hotch began, intending to tell the older man how ridiculous his words were, but then he realized that he had pretty much just told him that he would let him dictate his life. Sort of. So instead he sighed and meekly asked “What does that mean?”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve probably never been grounded before…” Rossi said thoughtful, tilting his head, “Well, when I was a kid it usually included coming home immediately after school, doing chores and going to bed early.”

“So..?”

“So, no overtime, you come to my place at five, you eat what I tell you and you go to bed when I tell you.”

“And chores?”                                                                                                  

“Just one. You use those puppy eyes of yours to get Alex to bring us some of his Romanée-Conti wine.”

Hotch gave him a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure that doesn’t even count as punishment.”

“Well,” Rossi said, giving Hotch a small smile in return, “this is about taking better care of you more than it’s about punishment. You’re just gonna relax. And do what I tell you.”

“Aren’t I always supposed to do what you tell me?” Hotch asked, eyebrows raised. Rossi snorted.

“Well, yeah. But now I’m gonna tell you what to do more. And you’re gonna listen. I’m not spanking you for disobeying me about sleeping, but if you disobey me during the next two weeks, I _will_. Understood?”

“Understood,” Hotch confirmed quickly. Rossi nodded, satisfied, and reached out a hand to ruffle Hotch’s hair. Hotch tried to duck it, and when he didn’t succeed Rossi gave him a smirk. It quickly changed into a real smile, though, and Rossi reached out again, this time to lightly run his knuckles over Hotch’s cheekbone.

“You’ll be okay,” he said, “ _Everything_ will be okay. I promise.”

And that shouldn’t really give Hotch any comfort at all; he wasn’t a child to be placated by promises he knew Rossi couldn’t realistically live up to. But for some reason he didn’t want to dwell on, it _did_ and the smile he gave the older man in return came partly from some deep, instinctive belief that Rossi really would keep his promise.

* * *

As usual, Leroy was already waiting when Rossi arrived at the restaurant they had picked for the day’s lunch. It wasn’t that Leroy was a particularly punctual person, or that Rossi was habitually late. Not _very_ late, at least. He sometimes suspected that Leroy gave him the wrong time on purpose just to get the opportunity to smirk when Rossi showed up ten minutes late.

Leroy had odd hobbies.

“I ordered for you,” Leroy greeted when Rossi sat down at the table, “Pasta Bolognese.”

“That’s fine. But it means you’re paying.”

“Greed’s a sin,” Leroy retorted automatically, before tilting his head questioningly, “On that note; Aaron showed up at my office this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He asked if I could bring my Romanée-Conti to dinner on Saturday.”

“So..?”

“ _So_ , why’d you put him up to it?”

Rossi tried to fight an amused smile from breaking out on his face and instead look innocent and unknowing. “Why do you think I put him up to it?”

Leroy raised an eyebrow. “Because Aaron doesn’t even know I have it? Or that there is such a thing. So what’s up?”

“Well… the kid’s grounded,” Rossi began but was immediately interrupted by Leroy’s snort.

“And you’re grounding him by giving him good wine?”

“No,” Rossi retorted, giving Leroy an exasperated look, but then shrugged and corrected himself, “Well, yes. He’s grounded for not sleeping and not taking care of himself. So I’m taking care of him instead.”

His eyebrows climbing even higher, Leroy tilted his head. “So… you’re punishing him by rewarding him?”

“It sounds a little strange when you put it like that, but yeah,” Rossi conceded, “It’s still gonna be pretty tough on him, though. I figure he’s gonna act out enough to get himself a spanking within a week.”

“How so?”

“Lots of reasons. I’m taking away one of his main distraction techniques and I’m not letting him hide. It’s gonna make him vulnerable. But mostly, he’s gonna push to see how serious I am.”

“How serious _are_ you?”

Rossi was saved from answering the surprisingly difficult question by their food arriving and he thoughtfully broke off a piece of bread to butter it. How serious was he? He didn’t want to completely stifle the kid; the grounding was supposed to be a punishment, but like he’d told Leroy it was mostly about making sure Hotch relaxed properly. And if he felt too smothered or too exposed, that wouldn’t happen. But neither did Rossi have any intention of letting Hotch go along as usual, and push himself into exhaustion and hide from any feelings he didn’t want.

It would have to be a careful balance.

“Well,” Rossi began again when they had both started eating, “I’ve made the rules clear. Once he starts pushing, I’ll… play it by ear, I guess.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” Leroy said thoughtfully, tilting his head as he sipped his water, “So dinner on Saturday?

“Yeah. And bring the wine!”

Leroy fixed a narrow-eyed glare on him, but it was made less effective by the smile threatening to break out on his face. “You know, I’m beginning to suspect you’ve orchestrated this whole thing just to get at my wine cellar.”

“’Course not. I’m after your money as well.”

* * *

“No.”

It was strange, but that small word was almost enough to make Hotch completely lose his temper. Normally, Hotch was a patient man and a simple argument with Rossi wouldn’t fray at his nerves like this, but the whole of the last two days had been full of Rossi ordering him about, saying no to him and patronizing him. It had begun first thing in the morning: Rossi refusing to let Hotch go to work early, despite the fact that there was nothing to be done at his place. And then it had continued from there.

“Why _not_!?” Hotch snapped, glaring at Rossi with crossed arms. Rossi just stared back calmly.

“Because I want you to relax and get enough sleep to make up for your sleep-deficit. And because I say so.”

“Dave, I’ve done _every damn thing_ you’ve told me to since the day before yesterday! I’ve done nothing but laze around. And now you won’t let me go for a run? Are you afraid I’ll run away!?”

Rossi kept his annoyed glare focused on Hotch, his thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans. “Only from yourself,” he said, deepening Hotch’s frown.

Because it was a ridiculous thing to say. All he wanted was to do _something_ that was the slightest bit productive.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Hotch argued, throwing his hands up frustration. Rossi raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” he said, “Aaron, it’s been four hours since we got home from work. Four hours that you’ve been relaxing, and you’re already freaking out. You need to learn to take it easy, kid.”

Deciding that the best way to respond to the older man’s ridiculous accusation was to go on the offensive, Hotch scoffed. “This from you? You always work overtime! Everyone in the unit works overtime!”

“Everyone else in the unit isn’t my concern: you are. And I don’t work nearly as much as you do. Anyway, it’s beside the point. Just because someone else does stupid shit it doesn’t mean you should do it.”

Raising his eyebrows, Hotch gave Rossi a mild look. “Is this where you ask if I’d jump off a cliff if my friends did?”

“You’re really giving me attitude right now?” Rossi asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.

“No! I’m not _giving you attitude_! I’m telling you you’re being ridiculous! I understand if you want to punish me and I understand that you want me to sleep more. But all you’re doing right now is _wasting my time_!”

Hotch’s voice had gotten loud enough to classify as shouting by the end of his outburst, and he was breathing heavily; anger and frustration jumbled together far too close to the surface. If he’d thought Rossi would shout in return, he was mistaken. Instead of growing angrier, the older man for some reason seemed to calm down, tilting his head to study Hotch with a thoughtful frown.

“Because you’re not working?”

Frustrated that Rossi didn’t seem to understand, Hotch spread his hands. “Because I’m just watching TV and reading and…”

“And enjoying yourself?” Rossi finished drily. Hotch glared at him.

“I’m not a masochist, Dave,” he snapped.

“I know. You’re just…” Rossi trailed off, making a small grimace and running a hand through his hair, “Sit down, Aaron.”

Warily, Hotch moved over to the couch, though he didn’t sit down just yet. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you. Please.”

Still a bit confused at this sudden turn of events, Hotch obeyed. He took a seat on the edge of the sofa, following Rossi’s movements with his eyes as the man sat down opposite him in an armchair. For a while, Rossi didn’t speak, but then he sighed and shook his head.

“Aaron, you’re a profiler. Take a look at yourself. You work instead of sleeping because you don’t value yourself enough to care about your own health. What would you say about that kind of behavior?”

Hotch closed his eyes. “I don’t have low self-esteem, Dave. I know my own worth.”

“So you say, but you’re not acting like it,” Rossi said softly, “The reason you want to go out running right now is because you can tell yourself you’re accomplishing something then, isn’t it?”

“I…” Hotch began, abut to protest the accusation only to realize that anything he could say to refute Rossi’s words would be a lie; with customary – and annoying – insight, the man had managed to pin-point Hotch’s emotions exactly. Looking down at his hands, Hotch sighed. “Yes. But am I wrong?”

“You’re wrong that you need to be constantly accomplishing things, yes.”

“I don’t think I _need_ to,” Hotch argued, still not looking at Rossi, “I just want to.”

“Since what you want doesn’t matter right now, this won’t be a problem then,” Rossi said dismissively and stood up, “Bedtime’s in an hour and a half. I think _Millennium_ is on.”

“What?” Hotch exclaimed, after a moment’s stunned silence, “No! This isn’t… We’re not done talking!”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “Yes, we are. You’re grounded; you do as I say. And I’m pretty sure I told you that you’re not allowed to argue with me.”

With that the man began to walk away, completely ignoring Hotch, who for a second just stared after him in silence. Then he shot to his feet and followed Rossi into the kitchen. This was insane. Rossi couldn’t just walk away as if he had won the argument when it wasn’t even finished. Because even though he _had_ said that he wouldn’t tolerate any argument from Hotch, he had to realize that couldn’t be expected to extend over completely ridiculous things.

“Dave! You can’t just go!”

“Yes, I can. This discussion is finished. You’re not going out running. Now go watch TV or read or something.”

Hotch clenched his jaw. “I _don’t want_ to watch TV or read and I _don’t want_ to sit around doing _nothing_! I want to go for a run and I don’t care if you don’t like that!”

Shouting at his mentor, Hotch realized when Rossi rounded on him with a dangerous glint in his eyes, might have been a bad idea. But he was frustrated. And maybe a bit frightened, precisely because he _was_ frustrated. Frightened of considering the idea that Rossi was right in calling his behavior unhealthy and that he needed to take a close look at himself.

“You don’t care?” Rossi said in a low voice, now very close, “Aaron, regardless of what this may seem like to you, you’re being punished. Pushing me is not something you want to be doing.”

“I’m not pushing you!” Hotch snapped, even he hearing how strained his voice sounded.

“Yeah, you are, kid. And you need to stop it. _Now._ ”

“ _I can’t stop it because I’m not doing it!_ ”

“All right: that’s it,” Rossi announced curtly and before Hotch had time to react he had reached out and grabbed Hotch’s upper arm in a firm grip, steering him back toward the living room, “You need to calm down.”

“I _am_ calm!” Hotch retorted, attempting to pull away from Rossi’s grasp. He didn’t quite succeed; Rossi did loosen his hold, but only to switch to his left hand in order to use his right to smack Hotch’s backside. Hard. “Dave!”

“I warned you,” Rossi replied evenly, continuing to push Hotch forward, now adding a hand on his back to the grip on his arm. Before Hotch had time to protest further, they reached their apparently intended destination: one of the corners of the room, empty except for a floor lamp that Rossi quickly pulled out of the way. Then he used his grip on Hotch’s arm to position him in it, almost close enough to the walls for his nose to touch.

“What the hell?” Hotch snarled, spinning around to glare at Rossi as soon as he let go of Hotch’s arm.

The older man calmly turned him to face the corner again, keeping a hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “You’re going to stand here and think. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

Hotch decided not to struggle against Rossi’s hold on his shoulder, instead forcing his body to relax. Except for his fists, which he kept balled up tightly enough for his nails to dig into his palms. “This is insane, Dave.”

“Would you prefer a spanking? Because that could be arranged.”

“I would prefer if you’d let me go out!”

“That’s not an option, kid.”

“Damn it, Dave!” Hotch snapped and began to take a step back, out of the ridiculous spot he was in, only to be interrupted by Rossi’s hand on his back, and then another firm swat to his backside.

“Again, you’re really not in a position to be giving me attitude,” Rossi said, now a touch of real irritation in his voice.

“I’m in an _absurd_ position!”

“Aaron, I’m warning you; don’t keep pushing me. I’ve made the rules clear, haven’t I? Do as you’re told. And right now I’m telling you to stand here and think about why it is you can’t allow yourself to just relax.”

“I _do_ relax,” Hotch replied, for now resigning himself to having this discussion while standing in a corner like a naughty child. At least Rossi had stepped back so he was no longer hovering just behind Hotch, as if prepared to catch him if he bolted. “I definitely don’t work when I’m with Haley, and you know I don’t work when you drag me away for lunch or dinner.”

“And that’s good,” Rossi said, sounding encouraging, “But do you ever do things you enjoy simply because _you_ feel like it?”

With a deep sigh, Hotch sagged against the wall and leant his head against it. “You’re over-analyzing this, Dave.”

Rossi scoffed. “You know as well as anyone that behavior isn’t random. It’s all rooted in psychology.”

“Maybe I just enjoy working? Did that occur to you?” The answer to the dry, lazy query was yet another swat to Hotch’s backside, and with a frown Hotch turned his head to glare at Rossi. “Are you going to do that whenever I disagree with you?”

“Only when you do it with that attitude. And yeah, I get that you like your job. Helping people is part of you; I’m not arguing that. But even if you’ve managed to convince yourself you don’t want anything else, that’s not an excuse to ignore what you _need_. You’re health isn’t negotiable. And before you start arguing: we both know sleep isn’t the only thing a person needs.”

Hotch sighed again. Because he could hardly argue with the man; he was too indisputably right for that. A part of Hotch wanted to keep arguing despite that and just keep denying that Rossi had a point, contradicting everything he said. But since that part felt suspiciously similar to the part that sometimes wanted to stomp his foot or storm out and slam the door, he refrained. Despite what Rossi at times seemed to think, Hotch wasn’t a child.

“I hate this,” he said instead, very quietly, head still resting against the wall and his eyes closed to try to shut out the world. He heard Rossi step closer and felt his warm hand on his back, rubbing it in small circles.

“I know, kiddo. It’s all right. All I’m asking is that you do as you’re told.” The older man’s voice had completely lost the earlier irritation and was instead very, very gentle. And as always, that was worse than being yelled at. Hotch drew a deep, ragged breath as he felt his eyes glassing over. Annoyed, he blinked several times before he spoke up again.

“How long do you want me to stand here?” he asked in a small-sounding voice.

“Are you gonna keep arguing with me?”

“No.”

“In that case, until right about now,” Rossi replied lightly and took a few steps back to allow Hotch to turn around and as soon as Hotch had done that, he pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t expect you to change your habits overnight,” he said, stroking Hotch’s hair, “All I ask is that you try. Can you do that?”

Hotch nodded against the older man’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I can try.”

“That’s good. That’s very good,” Rossi praised him, “Now go do something relaxing. Tomorrow’s Saturday. If you still want to, you can go for a run then. And if you’re good I’ll even let you do the dishes.”

Without pulling away from the hug, Hotch snorted. “Gee, thanks.”

* * *

“Dave really should have cooked before Alex got here,” Jo said with an exasperated glance toward the kitchen, where a fifth language had just entered the discussion by ways of what from the sound of it was a rather…colorful word. It was Leroy who responded to Rossi snapping something at him in Italian with what sounded like German.

“I didn’t know Alex spoke German.” Hotch too looked toward the kitchen, where Leroy was now animatedly explaining something.

“He doesn’t. He just swears very well in it. And knows a lot of cheesy pick-up lines. Which he’ll use if you get him drunk.”

Hotch snorted. “You know, I think I want to see Alex drunk sometime.”

From the stories and hints Hotch had been given, Rossi and Leroy had both had quite wild youths, both before and after they met each other, and it seemed as if they had done a lot of very strange things. Hotch had for a brief period after his father died acted out in the normal teenage way; alcohol and cigarettes and late nights, but he had never switched to other languages or recited Homer.

“Maybe when you’re older,” Jo said and then, when another curse could be heard from the kitchen, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, “Be a dear and go tell those idiots that if they haven’t decided what to cook in ten minutes we’re ordering Chinese. _And_ drinking Alex’s wine with it.”

Hotch frowned and opened his mouth to ask why _he_ had to do it, but closed it again when Jo raised her eyebrows at him. He wasn’t about to argue with that look, especially when he was already in Rossi’s bad graces. So instead he got up, putting aside the magazine the Leroys had brought him, and headed for the kitchen, knocking on the doorframe before he entered.

Immediately, two pairs of eyes were focused on him, both of them on faces with looks demanding to know why he had disturbed their debate.

“Jo wants me to tell you that if you haven’t decided in ten minutes, we’re going to order Chinese. And drink the wine with it.”

Leroy frowned. “ _Barbare_!” he called toward the living room.

“What’s that, darling?” Jo called back, sing-song voice completely dismissive. Leroy glared in her direction, while Rossi turned to Hotch with a comically distressed look.

“Is she serious?” he asked, “Does she know what Romanée-Conti is? It’s a _great_ wine. Even if it’s French.”

“I’m pretty sure she is,” Hotch replied, unfairly getting another glare. Then Rossi sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“All right, all right. We’ll just go simple. Okay with you, Alex?”

“Sure, I guess. It’ll be about thirty minutes, then,” the man replied curtly, throwing another narrow-eyed glare in the direction of his wife and, very much intentionally loud enough for her to hear, told Hotch: “Go and bother my beloved wife, now.”

“You’re never a bother, Aaron honey,” Jo called back, “Unlike certain other people I know.”

“Dave _is_ annoying,” Leroy retorted, earning a punch on the shoulder. A bit bemused, Hotch left the two older men and went back to the living room.

“Do they always argue like that about what to cook?” he asked Jo as he sat down.

“Not really. But Dave has been pestering Alex about this wine for a long time. It’s supposed to be a big deal.”

Hotch frowned. “Jo… did he bring it because I asked him? Because he really shouldn’t have, then. I don’t even know much about wine. I only asked because Dave told me to.”

Jo gave him a soft smile. “Alex knows it was Dave who told you to ask, honey. And don’t worry. If he didn’t want to bring his wine, he wouldn’t.

“I still appreciate it,” he said quietly. Jo nodded, a gentle smile on her round face.

“And we appreciate _that_.” She sounded as if she might say something more but she was interrupted by a loud insult in French coming from the kitchen. She snorted. “This is why I prefer it when they cook around Dave’s mom. They don’t dare swear at each other then.” After a moment she added with a smile, “Then again, they don’t really argue at all then, because they know they don’t have much of a say.”

Hotch found himself smiling in return. He had yet to meet Rossi’s mother – Rossi mentioned at least once a week that he really should take him to visit her but it had never quite come about – but he had heard stories, and anyone who could keep Rossi and Leroy from arguing with each other for any length of time had to be quite a character.

“Do they listen to her that much?” he asked. Jo shrugged.

“She’s Dave’s mother,” she said simply, “and in many ways she’s Alex’s mother as well.”

That probably did explain it, Hotch supposed, even if he couldn’t imagine feeling quite the same thing about his own mother. He loved her – deeply – but not the way Rossi seemed to sometimes almost revere his.

“I suppose I’ll get to meet her sooner or later.”

“Sooner,” Jo replied, “Dave should already have introduced you. He’s just lazy.”

“Hey! Are defaming my character in here?” Rossi said, appearing in the doorway from the kitchen. A snort came from behind him.

“That implies you have any character to defame,” Leroy called out. Rossi ignored him, instead walking over to place a hand on Hotch’s shoulder.

“Who should I have introduced him to?”

“Your mother,” Jo replied, “If you don’t bring him there soon you’re going to be in trouble with her, you know.”

Rossi shrugged. “I’m always in trouble with her. She thrives on lecturing people.”

“She’s usually right, though,” Jo replied, giving Rossi a significant look. Rossi glared at her.

“You only say that because she always takes your side.”

“That’s because my side is the reasonable one and your mother is a very reasonable woman.”

“As are you, ma bienne-aimée.” Leroy flashed his wife a brilliant smile from the doorway before he addressed Rossi, eyebrows raised demandingly. “The onions won’t chop themselves, David. You do want to eat this evening?”

Rolling his eyes, Rossi followed Leroy back to the kitchen without answering – maybe complying in reaction to the commanding note in the Frenchman’s voice, one which Hotch had never heard him use before. It was at times difficult to remember that Leroy had actually been an officer, but apparently he could sound like it when he wanted to.

Hotch nodded toward the kitchen. “Should I go help?”

Jo smiled wryly. “Only if you want to watch them try to think of a nice way to tell you they don’t think you’re competent enough to not mess it up.”

Deciding that he had no particular wish to see that, Hotch returned his attention to his magazine, his reading accompanied by multi-lingual bickering from the kitchen and occasionally one of the older men coming out to exchange a few words with Jo and Hotch, and in Rossi’s case to give Hotch’s shoulder an affectionate pat. It was… homey, in a rather strange sort of way and Hotch slowly began to realize that no matter how good the wine or the food was, it wouldn’t be the best part of the evening.

* * *

“You’re half an hour late.”

Bending down to unleash Dodge, Hotch pressed his lips together. “I didn’t know I was a prisoner.”

“You’re not,” Rossi retorted, looking down at Hotch’s bent head with crossed arms, “But you _are_ grounded. Did you forget that?”

Nonchalantly walking past Rossi toward the kitchen, Hotch shrugged. “No, I didn’t.”

Frowning, Rossi followed the younger man. This was a bit unexpected. True to what Rossi had predicted, Hotch had started pushing as soon as he had done the initial adjusting to the grounding; once it was no longer a completely novel and alien thing, it had began to visibly wear on Hotch. But even if Rossi had expected a certain amount of resistance, this was a bit more than he had counted on. Arguing about rules, sure, and snapping. Straight out refusal of this kind, however, he found surprising.

“So you just ignored what I told you?”

Keeping his tone neutral – though it obviously took him some effort – Hotch opened a cupboard to take out a glass. “I decided that I wanted to walk for a bit longer.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Rossi pointed out, watching Hotch fill the glass with water from his stance leaning against the doorframe, arms still crossed.

“I assumed you would have paged me as well if it was something important.”

That was actually true, Rossi had to admit. If they had been called in for a case or there had been some kind of emergency, Rossi wouldn’t have contented himself with just calling and not getting an answer. But he wasn’t about to let that get in the way.

“You think that’s an excuse?”

“I didn’t know I needed an excuse to go for a walk.” This time Hotch didn’t manage to keep his voice as neutral as he clearly wanted to and his grip on the glass was too tight when he put it in the sink. He was angry.

“Look at me, Aaron,” Rossi ordered firmly. Hotch drew a deep breath and Rossi could see him clench his fingers into a tight fist before he did as he was told, meeting Rossi’s eyes with a tight expression, his jaw tense and his eyes holding a clear challenge. Of course, Rossi was a good enough profiler – and knew Hotch well enough – to know that the challenge was mostly ‘how far can I go before you throw me the hell out of here’.

“Yes?”

“Do you really think this is the right attitude to be taking?”

“What attitude?” Hotch countered, speaking through a clenched jaw with a voice that was impressively calm. Rossi gave him an incredulous look, that wasn’t at all faked.

“ _’What attitude?_ ’ Aaron, do we really need to do this?”

“Yes!” Hotch snapped abruptly, taking half a step forward and beginning to raise his hands in a frustrated gesture before he seemed to catch himself and took several deep, still furious, breaths. “Yes. We do! What is your problem?!”

“ _My_ problem?” Rossi echoed, his eyebrows climbing further toward his hairline. The kid really was pushing it; even Rossi, who hadn’t always been as self-preserving as he probably should have been, would have seriously hesitated before asking such a question of someone already punishing him. It was possible that he _had_ done something similar when arguing with Stark, in one of his in retrospect less clearheaded moments. But only once. “You deliberately disobeyed me. You’ve been arguing with everything I’ve said the whole day. If it’s anyone’s problem we need to talk about it’s yours.”

“ _My_ problem,” Hotch said evenly, crossing his arms to mimic Rossi’s pose, “is that you’re treating me like a prisoner!”

“I’m treating you like you’re grounded. Because you are.”

“Well, it seems like a lot like being a captive. There’s a term for that, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. False imprisonment.”

Rossi didn’t bother holding back his chuckle, even if Hotch might not understand his amusement. Even he had never accused his boss of a crime. It had to be Hotch’s lawyer instincts. “Does it seem like I’m restraining you, kid? There’s the door.”

That completely stopped Hotch in his tracks; the young man had clearly been ready to retort with some other accusation, but when Rossi’s words registered he closed his mouth and swallowed, his eyes widening. Obviously, this was unexpected to the kid. And probably worrying. It would seem like a rejection, the kind of ‘get out’ Hotch had been pushing for but not really wanted.

“Are you telling me to leave?” Hotch asked, very quietly. Rossi shrugged, giving him a completely open look.

“No. I’m telling you to go plant your nose in the corner,” he said. Then, when he words had sunk in, he continued. “But I’m also telling you that if you walk out that door I won’t stop you, and I won’t blame you for it. And that if you do, it doesn’t mean that the door will be closed to you later. You can’t make me stop caring, Aaron.”

For what seemed like a very long time, Hotch just stared at Rossi.

Then he turned on his heel and headed toward the living room; quickly, as if he didn’t want to give himself time to change his mind. Rossi allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before he followed. He’d been fairly certain that the kid would yield – most of his anger was from the unexpectedness of the punishment Rossi had picked and from frustration – but it was nice to have some confirmation of the fact that Hotch accepted him as a… well, something.

When he entered the living room Hotch was already in the corner, resting his forehead against the wall and hunched in on himself. Feeling a bit bad – he knew Hotch only did that when he was feeling very insecure – Rossi walked over to place a hand on the young man’s back.

“You okay?” he asked.

Hotch was silent for a moment and Rossi could feel some of the tension leaving his body as he slowly rubbed the man’s back in slow circles. “Yeah,” Hotch finally said, voice something of a croak. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Good,” Rossi murmured encouragingly, “That’s very good, Aaron. Now I want you to stand here for a while and think about the appropriate way to act when you’re grounded, okay? And a tip, by the way; it doesn’t involve accusing your boss of a federal crime.”

Color flooded Hotch’s cheeks and he winced slightly. “Yeah. I really didn’t mean that, Dave.”

“I know you didn’t, kid,” Rossi replied, letting some of the amusement he felt at the pure outrageousness of Hotch’s brand of talking back enter his voice. “So think about why you said it.”

With that he left the kid to head for the kitchen, deciding he might as well get the dishes out of the way.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later he headed back to the living room to deal with the evening’s more uncomfortable task.

“Come sit down, Aaron,” he said. Hotch obeyed instantly, taking a seat in the spot Rossi indicated. Then he folded his hands in his lap and fixed his eyes on the carpet in front of him. “So. What’s with the teenager act?”

Hotch shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just… I hate this.”

“You’re not supposed to like it,” Rossi replied, scoffing, “It’s punishment.”

“I know. But it’s _strange_ punishment. I… I don’t know what to do.” The confession was very quiet and by the end of it Hotch looked up at Rossi through his eye-lashes, his eyes pleading for some kind of answer. Luckily, Rossi had one to give.

“All you need to do is what I tell you to. I know it goes against your instincts to let someone make decisions for you and I know it’s hard for you to accept that I care enough about you to want to make those decisions, even when you don’t like it. And I don’t expect you to completely adjust to this straight away. Frankly, kid, I’d be more surprised if I hadn’t gotten some mouthing off.”

“So…” Hotch began, daring a hopeful look at Rossi, “You’re not angry with me for, uh…”

“Being a brat? Well… I’m a little annoyed. You went a bit overboard with the attitude, kid.”

Hotch made an embarrassed grimace and raised his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know. And I’m sorry.”

Rossi nodded in acknowledgment of the apology. “Good. But you remember what I told you would happen, yesterday, if you disobeyed me again?”

Bowing his head very quickly, as if to hide, Hotch closed his eyes. “I remember,” he mumbled.

“And?”

Still with closed eyes, Hotch sighed deeply before he answered, so quietly it was almost a whisper. “You said you’d spank me.”

“That’s right. Stand up, Aaron, and come here.” Rossi held out a hand, taking Hotch’s upper arm in a firm grip when the young man hurried over to him. Then he led him to the side of the couch. “Drop your pants and bend over.”

“Dave…” Hotch said, giving him a wide-eyed look that made him look very young. “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?”

Blushing deeply, Hotch gave Rossi a mildly irritated look – probably not happy that he was being made to articulate the request. “Please don’t make me drop my pants.”

“No dice, kiddo. Go ahead.”

Looking as if he was suffering extremely from it, Hotch did as he was told. He fumbled a little as he undid the button of his jeans but soon managed it and let the pants slide down to his thighs, giving Rossi one final pleading look – which Rossi only responded to with a raised eyebrow – before he put his hands on the armrest and leant forward. He willingly adjusted his position when Rossi pushed him down further with a hand on his back, though he was still tense. He tensed even more when Rossi in a swift motion pushed down his underpants as well, making a small sound in protest.

He was sensible enough not to say anything, though.

Not seeing any point in stalling, Rossi let the first smack fall in the center of Hotch’s left buttock before immediately doing the same to the right. The kid flinched slightly, but made no sound. Rossi continued spanking at a brisk pace, making sure to cover the entirety of Hotch’s backside and upper thighs. Once the kid’s backside was a satisfactory shade of deep pink and his fists were beginning to clench around the pillow Hotch had grabbed, Rossi slowed his pace and began speaking.

“What’s your situation right now, Aaron?” he asked.

Hotch swallowed audibly. “I’m grounded,” he said, his voice showing some strain. Rossi nodded.

“That’s right. And what are the rules for that?”

“Do as I’m told,” Hotch replied immediately, “and no overtime. And… I go to bed early. I eat. I…”

Hotch was obviously searching for something more to say but seemed unable to come up with something and since he was already beginning to squirm uncomfortably, not quite trying to escape from the swats but close to it, and his breath was coming in short abrupt gasps, Rossi decided to finish for him.

“And you don’t talk back or argue me, or give me any attitude. Understood?”

The dark head bobbed once, fervently. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” Rossi finished up the spanking with half a dozen swats evenly spread but he kept his hand on Hotch’s back once he was done, offering comfort and closeness. Hotch took several deep breaths, realizing that the spanking was over, and relaxed a little. Not much, but that might be from the uncomfortable position he was in. Still keeping a hand on Hotch’s back, Rossi took a step back to give him some space. “Wanna get up?”

Another nod, and as Rossi lifted his hand from his back, Hotch straightened. His hands instantly flew down to pull up his pants, hanging his head as he buttoned them and swallowed several times as he tried to calm his breathing into a slow, regular pattern. Rossi waited a few seconds before he once again placed his hand on Hotch’s back, lightly enough to let him know that it was up to him if he wanted it there.

It seemed he did. He didn’t turn around, but he did, very marginally, lean into the touch and when Rossi began to rub soothingly he slowly relaxed a little.

“Wanna turn around?” he asked after a while. A third nod, and Hotch turned. He still didn’t look at Rossi; instead he immediately allowed himself to be pulled into a tight embrace, bending his neck to rest his head against Rossi’s shoulder, relaxing further when Rossi began running his hand over his hair. “It’s all right, kid. You’re okay.”

Hotch, breathing deeply, nodded against Rossi’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he agreed, suppressing a sniffle.

“Atta boy,” Rossi murmured, giving Hotch’s back an encouraging pat. More and more tension gradually left the young man’s body as he relaxed into Rossi’s embrace. He allowed himself to accept the comfort for longer than Rossi had actually expected, but then his own standards seemed to catch up with him and he pulled away.

“I won’t disobey you again,” he promised very earnestly. Rossi gave his ear a light tug, smiling kindly.

“I doubt that, but I appreciate the sentiment. You wanna help with dinner?”

“What are we making?”

“What do you want?” Rossi asked, realizing as he said it that he probably shouldn’t reward Hotch with getting to pick the food when he had been a complete brat all day. But the kid looked so vulnerable with slightly puffy, moist eyes and trying to be surreptitious about rubbing the sting out of his backside that Rossi caved into what Leroy called his mothering instincts, so he ignored the thought and led Hotch toward the kitchen as he listed the various possibilities for dinner.

* * *

Hotch’s backside was still smarting when Rossi sent him to bed later that evening. The older man had just raised an eyebrow when Hotch suggested that he could eat dinner on the couch instead of at the table – on the _hard_ chairs – something which hadn’t helped soothe the pain. At least it had been a shorter dinner than Rossi typically insisted on.

And for some reason, Hotch hadn’t balked as much as he had before at the way Rossi took charge completely, off-handedly giving him orders and instructions. Maybe ‘just do as you’re told’ wasn’t such bad advice. For the moment, at least. He accepted it quietly when Rossi put food on his plate and placed it before him with a stern injunction to eat up, and didn’t bother being annoyed at the way Rossi absentmindedly ran a hand over his hair when he walked past.

It was galling to admit it, but Hotch _liked_ Rossi being pleased with him and demonstrating it as openly as he was doing. It was nice that all he had to do in order to get an approving smile was follow the instructions Rossi gave him; go put on something more comfortable, go read, go brush your teeth. Knowing exactly what he had to do to fulfill his obligations was… relaxing.

Once he’d brushed his teeth and taken care of his business, Hotch entered the guest room he had been allotted during his grounding. Rossi was already there and Hotch’s eyebrows rose in question. “Are you going to tuck me in?” he teased. The look he got in reply was quite serious, though.

“Would you mind?”

Deciding that the answer to that was too uncomfortable, Hotch just silently slipped under the covers and ignored Rossi’s far too intent gaze fastened on him. The older man _didn’t_ tuck him in, but he did take a seat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Hotch with a serious expression.

“I realize this frustrates you. Being grounded. I didn’t expect anything else. And trust me, I’m giving you some leeway, but there are still some basic rules that I want you to obey no matter how much you hate it. All right?”

Hotch nodded. “Of course. I know that, Dave. It’s just… hard.”

With a small smile, Rossi reached out and smoothed back the hair from Hotch’s forehead. “You’ll be okay, kiddo,” he murmured quietly, soothingly, “Go to sleep now.”

Despite of his words, Rossi made no move to get up from his seat at Hotch’s bedside, which was unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. “Dave?” Hotch mumbled after a while, already beginning to descend into slumber and the insecurities he normally kept tightly bolted up slipping past the barriers and up to the surface, “Are we okay? You’re not angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you, Aaron,” Rossi reassured him, “I never really was. Just… annoyed with how you were acting. Do you understand the difference?”

“Maybe?” Hotch ventured hesitantly, getting a small smile in return. A small, vaguely melancholy smile.

“We’ll work on it. Now close your eyes. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Hotch obeyed, not opening his eyes as Rossi ran a hand over his hair again. He remained seated at the bed for a while, humming softy, before he got up and quietly left the room, switching off the lights and closing the door to only a small opening as he left. Hotch kept his eyes closed as darkness flooded the room, and more quickly than he had expected sleep began to creep up on him. He let it.


End file.
